Clean, spotless countertops, sparkling, stainless pots and pans, assorted kitchen utensils, and state-of-the-art appliances surrounded her.
Her mother had been the cook at the Morton Mansion for as long as she could remember. She had grown up seeing her mother slaving in the kitchen to feed one person to a hundred.
At an early age, she had learned the distinction between her kind and the people her mother served. She had always known her place. She also knew when not to cross the line.
"Hey, Leah…" Her mother's voice echoed in the spacious room, but she was too engrossed in her thoughts to notice.
The only time she realized that her mother was calling her was when she felt a ladle against her shoulder.
"Ouch!" It did hurt. But not enough to make a bruise. "What's that for?" She rubbed the fleshy part of her shoulder as she finally turned to look at her mother, who was hovering over her, with a puzzled look.
